


I Need to be Youthfully Felt, 'Cause God I Never Felt Young

by JackEPeace



Category: Barely Lethal (2015)
Genre: 5+1, As it should be, F/F, Gay, Set post movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 08:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13407153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackEPeace/pseuds/JackEPeace
Summary: Megan protests, “I mean, I am a trained assassin, Liz, I’m pretty sure I can handle a few nightmares.”-or-The five times Megan had a nightmare and Liz comforted her and the one time Megan was there to comfort Liz.





	I Need to be Youthfully Felt, 'Cause God I Never Felt Young

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Geeky_MikaBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeky_MikaBoo/gifts).



> I love these two and I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> Once again, this story is for Mika, the Liz to my Megan (because she is cool and so are you!) 
> 
> And the title comes from "Jackie and Wilson" because it really is a great song for them and I figured I would just keep this trend going.

**1**

Nightmares were something Megan was used to.

Back at Prescott, they weren’t uncommon, though it was usually only the younger girls who couldn’t keep from crying out in the middle of the night, whimpering in their sleep as they tossed and turned. The older ones, the ones who had been there for as long as Megan had, had gotten good at keeping their dreams to themselves.

Since being with the Larsons, Megan had forgotten about the nightmares. She had forgotten about seeing past missions flashing through her mind, the faces of the people that she had been sent to take out, the ones that she would hurt and subdue with her bare hands.

The pain, the panic, the fear. All because of her.

She’d let herself slip into a false sense of calm since she’d been here, one that had only been mildly disrupted by 84 and Knox, one that had, more or less, returned in the weeks since things had gone back to normal.

Or, at least, the new normal that Megan was growing accustomed to.

The new normal that is suddenly disrupted when Megan wakes, her heart hammering in her chest, her body damp with sweat, her chest heaving with every rapid breath. She sits up suddenly, throwing the covers off her body, immediately resuming the battle stance that had been engrained into her mind throughout her formative years.

Her hands shake even as she holds them up, ready to face whatever lurks in the darkness. But there’s nothing, at least, not that Megan can see.

Exhaling, Megan scrubs a hand across her face, lifting her tangled hair off the back of her neck. All of it…the sensations of being pursued, hunted, seconds away from death…all of it had just been in her mind. A nightmare.

Megan shakes her head, dropping her hair and letting out another breath, slowly, between her teeth. The phone beside her bed tells her it’s still early, hours before she has to be up for school, but that thought seems so out of place all of the sudden. School, for her? Someone who has done the things she has done, who has the nightmares that she has?

She’s pretty sure no one else is going to be walking into calculus tomorrow morning exhausted from having nightmares about all the people they’ve hurt and hunted and all the times they’ve nearly died.

Megan pulls on the slippers Mrs. Larson bought her as a welcome-to-Newton gift and quietly slips down the stairs. The house is still and sleeping. She can hear the sounds of Parker’s white noise machine drifting in through the crack in his door and the steady breathing of Mrs. Larson at the end of the hallway.

She’s a few steps from the kitchen before she realizes that she’s not alone. She can sense the other presence as clearly as she can her own and Megan tenses once more, spine straightening, muscles falling into the old familiar positions.

Of course, the person in the kitchen is Liz. Megan can tell that the second she comes around the corner and sees the figure sitting at the kitchen table, her back to Megan, her focus on the dimly glowing phone in her hand.

It takes Liz much longer to realize that Megan is in the kitchen with her and when she finally notices the other girl’s presence, she jumps out of her chair, her knee bumping the table and causing Fruit Loops and milk to slosh out of the bowl in front of her. “Jesus Christ!” Liz says with a hiss, her voice still a whisper as though there’s a part of her mind that doesn’t want to wake her mother even in a moment like this.

“I’m sorry!” Megan says quickly and when Liz shoots her a look, she quickly lowers her voice into a matching whisper. “Sorry.”

Liz shakes her head, giving Megan a look. “I thought we said no more spy stuff,” she grumbles, gesturing at the girl. “You can’t just go sneaking up on people.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Megan assures her. “I didn’t know you were down here.”

Liz shrugs, grabbing a sponge off the sink and using it to wipe down the table. “Why wouldn’t I be in the kitchen at three in the morning,” she remarks dryly, tossing the sponge back into the sink. “Why are _you_ in the kitchen at three in the morning?”

Megan mimics Liz’s shrug, sitting down across from her at the table. “I had a nightmare,” she says.

For a moment, Liz doesn’t say anything, she only studies Megan. Megan is getting used to this, has figured out this is another one of the many things that makes Liz Larson who she is. Her knack for quiet observation is something Megan is certain Hardman would value back at Prescott.

Finally, Liz gets to her feet, going over the cabinets and retrieving another cereal bowl. She puts it on the table in front of Megan, along with the Fruit Loops box and the milk. “Thanks,” Megan says, shaking some of the cereal into her bowl. “Why are you down here, anyway?”

Liz stirs her soggy cereal with her spoon. “Can’t sleep,” she says breezily. “What was your nightmare about?”

Megan picks up a few of the colored loops, eating them absently. Liz lifts her eyebrows. “No milk?”

“Takes too much time,” Megan tells her. “And you can’t exactly have a bowl of cereal with milk while you’re on a stake-out or on the run from someone trying to kill you. Honestly,” she says, “I really hadn’t even had cereal until I started staying with you guys. It was all protein bars and that weird ice cream they gave astronauts.”

Liz snorts out a laugh. “No wonder you have nightmares,” she mumbles. Her expression softens when she looks back up at Megan. “Is that what your nightmare was about?”

“Space ice cream?” Megan asks, perplexed.

“No, Prescott,” Liz says with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

Megan nods, looking down at her untouched cereal. “Yeah.”

Liz’s hand moves across the table, her fingers resting gently against Megan’s wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Megan looks up, studying Liz in the dim light that comes in through the kitchen window. Liz doesn’t look like she’s slept much tonight, her hair twisted into a messy knot on the top of her head, her eyes slightly red and weary. She wonders again why she’s down here too, seeking refuge in the cool, quiet of the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Even still, Liz looks like she belongs here. The All-American girl with pink pajamas and an impressive report card and a sweet smile despite her cold eyes. She looks exactly like the heroine in every high school movie Megan has ever watched: normal and perfect.

And her nightmares…the thoughts that run through her mind…the things that she’s seen and done…those things are so far from normal it’s not even funny.

So Megan only shakes her head, giving Liz a wane smile. “Not really,” she says, to keep from admitting that she just doesn’t want to tell Liz, not here, not when Liz is looking at her like they’re friends and like Megan could possibly belong there too, as part of her normal life.

She doesn’t want to say something that might make Liz remember that Megan isn’t normal after all.

Liz doesn’t say anything, doesn’t attempt to wheedle Megan into talking about what’s on her mind. And she doesn’t offer any insight of her own or volunteer what’s brought her to the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Instead, she reaches for the milk, pouring some into the bowl in front of Megan. Megan smiles, picking up her spoon. “Thanks.”

And the cereal is good, she has to admit.

Though she thinks the company might be even better.

**2**

“Please, you don’t have to do this.”

She has heard this before. Though only in simulations, in the classrooms back at Prescott. Hardman and Knight and the others had told her that it would be like this sometimes, that the subjects would beg or plea, try to appeal to her.

It seems different when it’s happening for real.

She’s not alone on this mission, which she’s grateful for. She hasn’t officially made it out into the field, not alone, not yet. She’s still too young for that, inexperienced. The agents that she’s with, 67 and 71, are far more experienced, there to keep an eye on her, to ensure that she gets a taste of the field and what it entails.

“Sorry kid,” 67 had said to her an hour earlier, when they’d had to jump into the SUV and hurry in pursuit of the subject in question, “we weren’t _actually_ supposed to see any action tonight.”

Surveillance, that had been all. It had been boring, at first, not that she ever would admit that out loud. But now…things had changed. They’d had to make a move or risk losing the subject. Such was the nature of field work, 71 had told her, handing over a gun as they’d gotten out of the car. You had to be ready for everything.

She looks at 67 and 71 to see how they’re handling this begging, the whimpering and crying from the man in front of them, on his knees. His face is bruised and bloody -he’d tried to get away and 71 had made sure that didn’t happen.

He’s looking at the girls, the guns in their hands, his own hands clasped in a prayer-like gesture. “I can give you information,” he tells them, his cheeks wet with tears, his dignity completely gone. Hardman had mentioned this might happen too, had said it with disgust in his voice, a roll of his eyes.

She feels bad for the man, doesn’t really blame him for crying.

“I can help you,” he begs.

67 shakes her head. “We already have everything we need.”

In unison, 67 and 71 lift their guns, pointing them at him. The man looks at her, his eyes soften slightly, his crying stopping for the moment. “I have a daughter your age,” he says, just as the agents pull the triggers.

The noise is loud, and it makes her jump and-

“No!”

Megan bolts upright, holding out a hand, gasping for breath. On the screen in front of her, the tinny, muted sound of gunfire continues as the superhero sweeps in to save the day.

Three heads turn in her direction and Megan feels like she’s processing the moment in slow motion, staring at them from underwater. Mrs. Larson, who looks startled. Parker, who looks a little fearful. And Liz, beside her, who doesn’t look like anything at all.

Megan takes a breath, assessing her surroundings. She’s in the living room, on the couch, a blanket around her, watching a movie with the Larsons and…

“You fell asleep,” Liz says softly, her eyes searching Megan’s face. “You-”

Megan gets to her feet, tossing the blanket back onto the couch, hurrying toward the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

She turns on the water, mostly to cover up the sound of any talking that might follow her departure, but also because the idea of splashing some water on her face seems promising. She puts her hands on the edges of the sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Stupid, stupid,” Megan says to herself, shaking her head. “A dream. It was just a dream. Get it together, 83.”

Those had been the same words 71 had said to her that night, after they had-

A knock on the door makes Megan jump again and she laughs at herself, closing her eyes. _Get it together_. “What?”

“It’s me.” Megan figures she would have known it was Liz on the other side of the door even if Liz hadn’t spoken at all. Who else would it have been?

Who else would she have wanted it to be?

Megan opens the door and doesn’t protest when Liz steps inside, shutting the door behind her. “Are you okay?”

Megan nods quickly. “Yeah, definitely,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It’s…I guess the movie just surprised me and-”

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” Liz supplies and Megan falls silent rather than deny her question. “Megan-”

“I’m fine, really,” Megan assures her quickly. “Just…” She waves her hand in an effort to indicate the rattle of thoughts in her mind. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I hope I didn’t scare Parker or ruin the movie or-”

“Who cares about the movie?” Liz says dismissively. “Are _you_ okay?”

Megan nods again. “Yeah, of course.” She gives her a smile, one that she hopes screams normal high school student.

“Prescott?” Liz says.

Again, Megan nods, because it feels a little better to be able to admit it to someone.

It’s not like she can talk to Hardman or the school counselor.

Megan thinks if Liz were to ask her again if she wanted to talk about it, she might not be able to resist.

But Liz doesn’t. Instead, she steps forward, giving Megan a hug, brief but sharp, stepping away before Megan can put her arms around her in response.

Liz smiles at her, as brief and tentative as the hug had been, and just as warm.

It’s enough to make Megan feel like she can breathe again.

**3**

Her legs kick out against the covers tangled around them, a residual feeling from the nightmare that she’s just pulled herself out of.

Running, always running.

Never fast enough to truly-

“No!” Megan cries as she opens her eyes, panting against her pillow. “Don’t!”

There’s no response, just an empty, normal bedroom in Newton, bathed in the orange glow from the streetlights outside.

And then…

Footsteps.

Megan sits up just as the door opens and Liz pokes her head inside, her hair messy, clothing rumpled, eyes still half-closed. “Megan,” she says, groggy, “what is it?”

It takes Megan a second to process, to let the last of her nightmare slip from her mind. She’s not in Russia, in the woods, running from some shadowy pursuer. She’s home and Liz is in her doorway and she… “Oh, Liz,” Megan mutters, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been yelling,” Liz retorts but there’s no actual malice in her voice, nothing by sympathy and concern.

Yelling. Had she really been yelling? More than just the moment she had woken up?

Megan groans, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” she grumbles. “I was just dreaming and…I really didn’t mean to wake you up…I feel awful and…”

“Don’t apologize,” Liz says, stepping into the room and sitting on the edge of Megan’s bed. “You were having a nightmare. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Megan lifts her head. “Oh yeah, it’s perfectly normal to start yelling in the middle of the night,” she says dryly.

Liz shrugs, leaning against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees, looking at Megan. “Who’s 83?”

“Huh?” Megan says, though she feels like her chest is cold, the blood moving through her veins suddenly ice water.

Liz’s eyes are fixed on her, her gaze soft. “That’s what you were yelling before I got here,” she says. “‘Come on 83. Hurry up 83.’”

There’s something in Liz’s gaze that tells Megan that she already knows the answer to her question. There’s no point in denying it, though the most surprising thing is that Megan doesn’t really _want_ to.

“Me,” she says. “They used to call me that back at Prescott. They called us all by numbers; we never had names.”

Liz’s brow furrows, her eyes still soft as she studies Megan, her chin still resting on her knees. “That sounds really awful.”

Megan opens her mouth to refute her comment, to step in to defend Hardman and Prescott, though she isn’t entirely sure why she feels that urge. There’s still a part of her that feels almost fondly toward the place where she grew up, the only home she’d ever had before coming to stay with the Larsons. And toward Hardman, the man who had been a father, or at least, the closest thing to it.

“You know what’s really awful?” Megan says finally. “Sometimes I miss it.”

Liz’s eyebrows drop into a v and Megan thinks she might see something like hurt flicker across her eyes briefly. “You do? Why?”

“I don’t miss, like, all the spy stuff. And I don’t miss trying to be an assassin or being expected to kill people or…anything like that,” Megan assures her quickly. “But it was…home, I guess? I don’t really know who I am, aside from 83.”

Liz sits up straighter, reaching for Megan’s hands. “That’s not true,” she assures her quickly. “You’re Megan Walsh. You’re a high school student, you’re a Viking. You’re good at track and climbing that stupid rope thing at gym and you’re awesome at history and pretty good at biology. And you’re funny and just super happy all the time, which is kind of annoying really, but it’s also kinda nice. And you’re my friend.”

The ice water in her veins has been replaced with something else, something warmer, something that spreads through her entire body and makes her feel heavy and tingly, something that makes it easy to smile. “Liz…”

Liz quickly shakes her head, taking her hands away from Megan’s. “Hey, it’s the middle of the night, it’s way easier to say stuff like that now.” She points a finger at Megan, a mocking scowl on her face. “But don’t get used to it.”

She’s smiling though, and it makes Megan’s own smile grow wider. “You know, you’re my friend too,” Megan assures Liz. “And you’re amazing and sweet and-”

“I’m not sweet,” Liz says with a roll of her eyes. “Haven’t you heard my mother? I’m practically a demon as far as she’s concerned.”

Megan snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. “She’s just kidding,” she assures Liz, giving her a playful bump with her shoulder. “And you _are_ sweet. You’re an awesome big sister to Parker and you…” She swallows, suddenly nervous to add herself into the equation, to make the wrong assumption. “You came in here to see if I was okay.”

Liz nods and against her hands find Megan’s. “Of course,” she says. “I mean, you were going to wake up the whole house at that rate so…”

Despite the joke, Megan can see the sincerity in Liz’s eyes, the concern that she still wears on her face. The worry that roused her from sleep and made her come running.

Megan gives her hands a squeeze. “Thank you for checking on me.”

Rather than say anything, Liz just looks down at their hands, fingers laced together.

The topic of their conversation shifts the more mundane and superficial, to talk about their classmates and teachers, the impending English assignment they’ve partnered up for, to Thanksgiving break and details about how the Larson family celebrates the holiday.

It’s only when Megan notices Liz’s eyes starting to droop that she says, “Go back to bed. I’m fine. Seriously.”

Liz shuffles off down the hall, back to her own bedroom for a little bit more sleep before the day officially begins. Megan lays back down, smiling up at the ceiling, thinking about Liz and the sound of her voice in the otherwise quiet house. The lingering memories of the nightmare are completely gone, leaving behind only the warmth in her chest, the buzz in her body that had followed every smile and laugh from Liz.

Megan doesn’t manage to go back to sleep but she doesn’t mind so much, not when her mind is so pleasantly occupied.

**4**

Megan hasn’t even gotten into bed before her bedroom door is easing open and Liz is walking in, dragging her comforter behind her, a pillow in her hands. Megan can only look at her. “What are you doing?”

“Look, we both know I’ll be in here eventually,” Liz says, spreading the blanket out on the rug on Megan’s floor. “So I figured I would just cut to the chase.”

Megan thinks Liz might be exaggerating, just a little bit. It’s not like she has nightmares _every_ night. But for the majority of the past two weeks, she _has_ woken herself up with the memories of her time at Prescott and Liz _has_ come into the room to talk to her and keep her company until everything about the memories and Prescott seems like a world away.

But… “This hardly seems necessary.”

Megan is making herself say the words, because her brain doesn’t mind at all the idea of Liz sleeping on her bedroom floor. She doesn’t mind anything that has to do with Liz, honestly.

Liz sits down on the little pallet she’s made for herself, sitting cross-legged with a ratty stuffed rabbit in her lap. “It can be like a sleepover,” she points out. “I haven’t had one of those since before my dad left.”

Something that she doesn’t talk about often, not that Megan is going to pry. Not when there’s so much that she also feels is off-limits.

“But the floor…” Megan protests. “I mean, I am a trained assassin, Liz, I’m pretty sure I can handle a few nightmares.”   

Liz shrugs. “Fine. I guess I can just go…” She starts to get up, albeit slowly, reaching for the pillow, her eyes still on Megan.

Megan sighs. “I mean…a sleepover could be fun…”

And it is nice, having Liz in her bedroom. Twice Mrs. Larson has to come in, scowling at them and reminding them to be quiet and that they have school in the morning. Apparently Megan’s nightmares weren’t enough to wake her up but the whispered giggling of two high schoolers is enough to put her on alert.

“Thanks, Liz,” Megan whispers after the second visit from Mrs. Larson, the one that came with threats of dragging them into the backyard to sleep. Not that she thinks there’s any weight to the words, but Liz’s eyes are starting to flutter closed, her shoulders hunched beneath her comforter, rabbit held to her chest. “For staying in here with me.”

Liz nods with a yawn. “Of course,” she says sleepily, “I like being with you.”

She doesn’t say anything more after that, but it’s enough for Megan. It’s enough to bring back that bubbling feeling in her chest, the words making her fall asleep with a smile on her face.

Later, when she does wake herself up from a nightmare, a scream frozen in her throat, the first thing Megan sees is Liz, there still asleep on the floor. She’s relieved that she managed not to wake her this time, that Liz is still sleeping peacefully with her mouth slightly open, her stuffed rabbit tucked underneath her chin.

Megan exhales and it’s easier to shake the dream, easier to remember where she is, and who she is here.

Easier to close her eyes and drift back to sleep.

**5**

The Larson home is in shambles. Megan has to admit that a part of her has been expecting this all along, has known that something like this was bound to happen.

She knows she should have left long ago, after everything with 84 and Knox happened, and Hardman let her leave Prescott -for the time being- and stay with the Larsons and she had been selfish enough to agree, knowing that 84 was still out there and so was Knox and that both women would be more than happy to return and finish off what they had started.

She had known they would come.

But still she had stayed.

And now…

Now the Larson house is in shambles and no one is answering her, and Megan moves from room to room, feeling like she’s going far too slowly, like she should be doing something more than calling for Parker and Mrs. Larson and for…for…

Her heart is in her throat, her hands trembling, but there’s no sign of anyone. Not of the Larson family, not of Knox or 84, though Megan knows they are here.

Or, at least, she knows 84 is. The lingering smell of cheap perfume is giving her away.

Megan takes the stairs to the upper level two at a time, not bothering to stop to grab a weapon, to assess the situation, to think of her options. She doesn’t do any of the things that Hardman has taught her, she only goes straight for Liz’s bedroom, pushing open the door that’s already ajar.

And there is 84, just like she’d suspected, like she’d _known_.

84 is poised over Liz like an animal, all lithe limb and muscle, all feral ferocity and murderous intent. And Liz is…is…

No, not dead, not quite. She turns her head in Megan’s direction, her eyes wide and desperate and full of fear and the certainty that nothing can be done to save her life. She reaches a hand out toward Megan, her fingers slick and red, just like 84’s own palms, though Megan knows whose blood it is staining skin and fabric and carpet. “Megan…”

And that’s when 84 smiles, that’s when she moves to strike, that’s when-

“Liz!”

Megan moves but it’s too late, she knows it’s too late, always too late when it really counts and…

She’s still shouting Liz’s name when her eyes open and she catches herself just in time to avoid pitching over the side of the bed and onto the floor.

And there’s Liz, her hands on Megan’s shoulders, her voice repeating Megan’s name over and over, though it takes a few seconds for Megan’s mind to completely catch up with the abrupt change in scenery, to realize where she is, to hear the sound of Megan’s voice.

“Liz,” Megan heaves out, the sound more like a sob than anything, her own hands digging tightly into Liz’s forearms. “Liz…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

She’s not sure what she’s apologizing for: waking her up, yet again. Or for what she saw in her dreams, what she feels is an inevitability, thanks to her own selfishness.

Liz shushes her, pulling Megan into a hug, a real one this time, one that lingers, one that allows Megan to hold tightly to Liz, to hide her face against the curve her neck and close her eyes and breathe and listen to the reassuring sound of Liz doing the same.

“I’m okay,” Liz assures her finally, her cheek resting against the top of Megan’s head. “It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. I’m okay.”

Megan swallows, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry, I-”

“No more being sorry,” Liz reminds her, pulling back just enough to give Megan a stern look. “Just…”

She doesn’t finish her thought, letting her hand rest against Megan’s cheek, a lingering touch of reassurance and maybe something more.

Something Megan thinks that she sees in Liz’s eyes. Something she thinks might be in her own too.

But Liz swallows, letting her hand fall back to her side. “It’s fine,” she says again, stepping back. “Everything-”

“Wait,” Megan hears herself saying quickly, before her mind can convince her mouth not to speak. “Don’t go, please. Just…don’t leave.”

Liz had said the same words to her once, a request she hadn’t been able to ignore. One she hadn’t wanted to.

Liz only nods and a wordless sort of understanding passes between them as Megan moves back enough to let Liz slip into the bed beside her. She pulls the blankets around them, and Megan feels like it’s a little easier to breathe, easier to remember that she’s not still stuck in the dream, that 84 isn’t here, that Liz isn’t…

When Megan reaches out, putting her arm around Liz’s waist, Liz doesn’t protest. She doesn’t shift away, doesn’t try to put more distance between them.

“It’s okay,” Liz says softly and even as Megan nods, she can’t help but feel like Liz is telling herself this as well.

**+1**

Megan isn’t sure at first what wakes her up, what immediately sets her body on edge. Her muscles are tense, her mind already whirling, cataloging, processing. She’s out of bed and on her feet before she’s entirely sure what threat she’s moving toward.

And then…the sound…Liz. She can’t make out the words, just the sound of her voice, pitched high, an entreaty of some kind.

Megan thinks of 84 and Knox and doesn’t give a second thought to hurrying down the hallway and into Liz’s bedroom.

But there’s no one there, aside from Liz, still in her bed, her face contorted in an expression that Megan is certain that her own body is quite familiar with.

A nightmare.

Quickly, Megan goes to the side of her bed, putting her hand gently on Liz’s shoulder. “Liz, hey, Liz, it’s okay,” she says quietly, insistently. “Liz, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

Liz’s eyes snap open and she whispers, “Daddy” before understanding crosses her face and she moves away from Megan’s arms, seeming to close in on herself. “Oh.”

Megan gives her a faint smile, a sympathetic one, wishing that she knew what to say, wishing that she could somehow make everything better, the way that Liz always seemed able to do whenever she was in this position.

“You were dreaming,” Megan says, even though that is undoubtedly pretty obvious by this point. “I…” She stops, uncertain. She notices Liz’s rabbit on the floor and picks it up, handing it over to the other girl.

Liz takes it. “Thanks,” she says flatly, rubbing the worn ears with her thumb and forefinger.

She doesn’t say anything, her shoulders still hunched, refusing to look at Megan. And Megan can’t seem to think of anything to say other than the trite and ridiculous platitudes that seem totally useless in a moment like this one.

So she steps away from the bed, figuring that if what Liz needs is space then she can do that even if she just wants to stay with Liz and figure out a way to make everything okay.

“Wait,” Liz says quietly when Megan takes another step toward the door. “Don’t go.”

When Liz pats the mattress beside her, Megan is happy to oblige, sitting across from Liz, their knees pressed together.

“Thanks for coming to check on me,” Liz says quietly. “I don’t usually…you know…no one usually notices…”

Megan smiles reassuringly. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I owe you at this point so, I don’t mind,” she says and then quickly adds, “Not that I would have minded anyway. I mean, you’re my friend and I like being with you and, you know, what are friends for and-”

“Okay,” Liz says quickly, putting a hand on Megan’s knee. “I get it. You can stop talking now.”

She smiles, taking any of the sting out of her words. “It’s probably pretty ridiculous to you,” Liz mutters. “Your nightmares are about being an assassin and training to kill people and I’m dreaming about my dad and-”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Megan interrupts. “It doesn’t matter what you were dreaming about.”

Liz scoffs, shaking her head. “He left us, you know. He found another girlfriend and he just…left.” She looks at Megan, her eyes searching Megan’s face. “I mean, I get it, people get divorced. But…he just left me and Parker, like he could just divorce us too and…”

“Liz…” Megan reaches up, unable to stop herself from wiping away the tear on Liz’s cheek.

Liz ducks her head, but she doesn’t push Megan’s hand away. “You know the worst part?” She asks. “I actually miss him. If he called right now and wanted to see me I would go, right away. I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” Megan assures her. “That’s…that makes a lot of sense actually. Anyone would, I think.”

Liz smiles, shaky and tentative. “He won’t, though. That’s the worst part.” She rolls her eyes. “And that stupid boat. I want to blow it up into a million pieces.”

Megan offers her a smile. “We could, actually,” she says. “I know where we could get the explosives and-”

Liz surprises her by leaning forward and pressing her lips to the corner of Megan’s mouth, a soft and subtle kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. One that makes Megan’s words freeze in her throat. One that makes her want more.

“What was that for?” Megan asks softly.

“Because I want to,” Liz replies, her voice just as quiet. “Because I don’t want to close myself off from you, too.” She laughs softly. “And you just offered to blow up a pontoon boat for me, which is weirdly kinda sweet.”  

Megan can feel her cheeks burn, a pleasant flush spreading throughout her entire body. “Oh, yeah, okay,” she says, nodding. “I mean, I want to do that too, I mean…the kissing thing, not the boat thing…I’ve really wanted to and-”

Another kiss, this one soft but pressed to her lips, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Megan swallows and hopes that she doesn’t have a stupid grin on her face, even though she’s pretty sure that she does.

“Stop talking,” Liz says gently, with a smile of her own. “Just…you’ll stay, won’t you?”

Megan nods. She doesn’t know if Liz is talking about tonight or through the year or for the rest of her life, but the answer is still the same regardless.

They fall asleep, heads on Liz’s pillow, arms around each other, and Megan’s mind is blissfully empty, her sleep deep and restful.

Until a knock on the door startles her awake and she can hear the shuffling sound of footsteps as someone enters the room.

“Lizzy?” The voice belongs to Parker and is groggy and thick with sleep. “I had a nightmare. Can I sleep with you?”

Liz shifts in Megan’s arms, moving away from her. Megan immediately misses the warmth of her, the weight of Liz against her chest, but she can’t exactly complain. Not with Parker peering at them through sleep heavy eyes, his curls askew.

“Of course,” Liz says, patting the space between her and Megan. Megan groans as Parker digs a knee into her stomach as she climbs over her, but she doesn’t exactly mind that either. There’s just barely enough room for the three of them, Megan feeling precariously close to the edge of the bed.

Parker sniffs, cuddling Liz’s bunny when she offers it to him. “I’m still scared,” he admits quietly.

“It was just a dream, Parker,” Liz assures him, tucking Parker against her chest and smoothing down his curls. “It can’t hurt you. Plus, we have Megan here, and you know she can handle anything.”

Megan smiles at Liz over Parker’s head and when Liz smiles back, the bubbly feeling in Megan’s chest returns. She thinks about their kiss, brief but deliciously perfect anyway. She wants to kiss Liz again but, with Parker there between them, it seems like that thought will have to wait.

She falls asleep thinking about the kiss and all the ones that she hopes come after it, a smile on her face, the warmth of Parker and Liz making her body heavy and languid.

All things considered, it’s not a horrible way to fall asleep.

 


End file.
